The ways of Luthors
by Sickle Sword
Summary: There are only two ways of how love someone: either to throw them to the water, or let them drown.


_No explanations needed. I don't own anything. Don't sue. Read._

**THE WAYS OF LUTHORS**

**---oOo--**

Today I've bought my grave.

I went to buy Lex a present, and ended up coming out from the cemetery many hours later, a bill of property shining in my hand.

It was a good business deal. The price was reasonable, and more importantly, in time the asset's value will grow. Yes, that is who we are, the Luthors. What we are.  
We find value even beyond our death.

I took Lex with me later to gaze from the top of a hill over the deadly horizon that was stretched underneath us, hoping that he understands that this experience only his. This is what divides him from all the other children. This is something he can be proud of.

Other fathers are taking their sons to amusement parks, filling their heads in fairytales and meaningless talks of love.

I am showing him the real world. What he can control.

"But dad," he doesn't understand, his little eyes wavering, curiosity smeared all over them. Lillian's influence. "It's only a graveyard"  
He thinks that I don't hear, but there's a quiver in his voice when he's saying that. As if he's afraid from the ghosts.

But I will teach no son of mine to fear the unknown; I will tell him to embrace it. I will not fill his impressionable head with vain conversations of bunnies from another world that can't harm any. _My_ son will know that the world is a tough place.  
That way nothing will be able to harm him.

My tactics are questionable. I know.

Lillian will surely object when he will come home, to her lap, crying like a baby, his throat heavy from unshed tears. For he will know the truth.

All those who are alive will someday die. The only way to postpone it is to control the dead.

How?

By not to be afraid from them.

And that is why I am taking him to this place now and that's why I will take him here every time I will see him afraid, or crying. I will teach him to play here, mockingly treading over other's tombs, brand his sub-consciousness with the knowledge that death is a failure.

This way he will not fail. This way I will keep him at my side forever, whether willingly or not, I will take him to wherever I'll go.

And we will not leave each other like my own parents have abandoned me.

No. We will be there for each other. No one will be able to harm us then.

"Look, dad, a rainbow" he points his little finger to the heavens, and already the image of the graveyard is a bit less terrifying in his eyes because even rainbows aren't afraid to go there.  
And he can conquer the rainbows. He can conquer the graveyard.

"Yes, son." I swallow a smile. The toddler must not see that I am happy to his mumbles. Luther's love is not easily given. It is to be earned.

So why do I feel that fear inside me for my son's welfare if he did not do anything yet that makes him worthy of my care?

Why is it that I feel a terrible warmness inside me wherever looking at my boy, an ache so strong when teaching him the ways of Luthors, of how heirs should behave, lamenting almost unwillingly about the loss of his childhood?

Can it be that my own parents were wrong? That a child must not see those things while young? Have I hated the morgue later less or more when I saw their bodies lying there, knowing I will have only me to fend for myself from now on?

No, I decide. That warmness is an illusion. A wayfaring ray of sun.

This is a hot day, after all.

"Daddy, will you and Mom be there someday?" he asks, and there is so much fear in his voice that it's bringing tears to my eyes. He cares about me. He will not care soon, and I will be painted as heartless.

But that's ok, that will save him.

I can still remember the day when they were gone, and everyone I knew went away from me, leaving me to myself, not even once wondering why I wasn't crying.  
They didn't know I didn't know how to cry. I was supposed to be strong.

And that strength was what saved me when children ran after me, singing mocking songs about me, calling me a dirty orphan, desecrating the names of my parents, the ones that deep inside I knew loved me. Even more than they loved their money.  
That why they died. They broke the Ways of the Luthors.

I will not make that mistake.

"No, son. Luthros are inconvincible"

"Really? Then will I not die, too?"

"Not if you are strong enough." I say and know that this is all life really about. Strength. Those who are strong are surviving. The weakened are doomed to eternal failure and mockery. Pain. Death.

Feeling emotions is a weakness, therefore this child is my weakness, because god help me, I feel something toward him so strong that I have not even felt when my parent died, toward no one. I feel him in my bones.

It must be stopped. He must never know that I love him. No one must know that. For this will weaken me. It will weaken him. And the weak ones are dying first.

"Will you teach me?" there is so much faith that voice. It will have to be broken.

I kiss his forehead for the last time and swear: "Yes, son. Don't be afraid. I will teach you to be strong"


End file.
